


Self-Defense 101 (Not Needed)

by Quiet_Shadow



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Crush, Blades, Developing Relationship, Gen, Knives, M/M, POV Third Person, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Self-Defense, Training, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 05:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26468254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: In answer to Decepticons targeting Autobot medics on the battlefield, Jazz is determinated to guarantee the medical corps' safety in the field, and Ratchet's especially. And how to do it best than by teaching your old, cranky CMO how to take down the opposition by himself?Except, maybe, he didn't need to worry so much, because Ratchet is far from being a demure, helpless mech...
Relationships: Jazz/Ratchet (Transformers)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 52





	Self-Defense 101 (Not Needed)

**Author's Note:**

> A stray thought I had, which snowballed and turned into a new one-shot. I hope you'll enjoy your reading. :)

“This is ridiculous,” Ratchet muttered under his breath as he followed Jazz into a free training room, throwing his hands in the air. “I don’t need lessons in self-defense! What I need is to be in _my_ Medbay, repairing my **patients**!”

“You may think so,” the Special Ops’ Head said with a casual shrug, “but that’s for your safety, mech.” He gave the medic a look over his shoulder, the look he often gave to green recruits who thought they knew everything – at least until they found themselves flat on the mat with their own gun pointed between their optics while Jazz chewed on a rust stick. “Lots of ‘Cons seems to think that shiny white and red paint the medical corps is so fond of is great for target practice.” Ratchet’s optics narrowed and Jazz hastily put his hands up. “Eh, I’m just saying! I don’t agree with the practice!”

At least not officially. _Prowl_ did when it came to Decepticon medics, being fond of the ‘talion law’, but Jazz was pragmatic enough to know getting rid of medics was not only stupid, it was dangerous. Losing soldiers was bad enough, but what were they going to do if they all run out of medics? Training a proper doctor took time, patience, and infrastructures and knowledges they may not have any more outside of the first-hand experience of their current medical division.

(Jazz still felt vaguely queasy about Optimus’ mournful wails when he had learned of the destruction of Polyhex’ Central Library, and Ratchet’s curses over the accidental wipe-out of the Protihex Medical Data Archives had almost made him blush. Better never let them know both events were not quite-accidents and what he and Prowl had deemed ‘acceptable loses’ to Decepticon’s increasing footholds.)

Not only that, but it only gave fuel for the Decepticons to answer in kind, thus further threatening the _Autobot medics_ , which was NOT a good thing at all.

Thus why Jazz had given Ironhide a little nudge so the Weapon Master and self-imposed Primal bodyguard (and a more credible speaker than Jazz on such matters) would speak up in the last crisis session and dutifully propose that they give medical personnel in the field their own set of bodyguards.

Prowl might grumbles about dividing precious resources, but Red Alert was all for it, and Optimus, blessed be his Spark, had agreed. Apparently, Ratchet getting shot in the knee during last battle as he was repairing him had rattled their Prime. Hadn’t stopped the medic from protesting he didn’t need ‘babysitters’ and that his injury was a one-time event that shouldn’t influence their judgment.

He had gotten Optimus’ _disappointed in you_ look and had promptly shut up. No one could guilt-trip a mech like Optimus on a good day.

And Jazz had mentally cheered himself when the bodyguards had been finally deployed.

It was working, too – more or less. There were still casualties, but fatalities had dropped by 42%, which was good.

Ratchet’s ‘care’ had ended in the end of a pair of Twins frontliners with a fearsome reputation. Prowl and Optimus had handpicked them themselves and curiously, Ratchet hadn’t raised much of a fuss. Not after being told their names, anyway.

Which probably hinted at a previous connection between them, one Jazz hadn’t uncovered yet (mostly because he hadn’t had time to dig too far, too busy planning anti-Cassettes infiltration measures with Red Alert after catching Ravage lurking into the washracks. How he had ended there was anyone’s guess. The little blighters were a pain).

Jazz coughed. “Now, it’s all well and nice for you to have assigned bodyguards. They take their role very seriously, from what I’ve heard—” Seriously enough to have come back to base covered in energon, with large grins on their heads and an arm ripped off an unfortunate Decepticon’s shoulder socket raised like a trophy above their head while Ratchet bellowed at them to be careful with it, he’d need to dismantle it for parts “— and I know you trust them, but I don’t think I need to point out to you how chaotic a battlefield can turn out. There are good chances that, at one point or another, you’ll end up cut off from any support and I know I’ll feel MUCH better if our CMO knows how to stay alive until we can get him back to safety, hmm?”

He wasn’t joking, either. As the CMO, Ratchet had access to all the troops’ medical files if he wished, and he was part of many of the High Command’s meetings. It put the old mech at risk and it gave Red Alert and Jazz fits, even if Jazz preferred to have his in private unlike Red Alert who somehow saw nothing wrong with public meltdown. Perhaps because it played better in his hands; high-strung or not, Jazz was convinced part of Red’s mannerisms was pure acting. Eh. What did he care if it worked, after all? Wasn’t as it Red Alert was using it for bad reasons, after all.

No. What really worried Jazz was Ratchet, first and foremost and always. Oh, he liked the mech well-enough. He liked competent people and he trusted the old mech – wouldn’t have let him dig in his guts otherwise. But Jazz was also Special Ops and Special Ops always had to think of the potential weak links in their midsts.

Ratchet wasn’t weak, per se, but… Well, medic. Medic in wartime, with mechs after his aft and enjoying taking poke shots at him when they could. Enough said.

The cold, tactical part of him would have wanted to put a kill switch on the old medic in case of capture. It would be hard to install such a device on Ratchet without him knowing (and it was better if he DIDN’T know, in case Soundwave tried to work his magic mind on him), but not impossible.

However, the friendly, practical part of him kept pointing out that Ratchet was not an idiot and that if he ever got captured, he would die before he let the Decepticons get anything out of him. The medic could easily cut one of his main energon lines and bleed out in minutes or self-wipe his drives if needed before anyone could stop him. Eck, Ratchet had pointed it out himself during meetings, earning himself shocked, and distraught looks from Prime.

Red Alert had approved, but eh, that was Red. Jazz approved too, but he hadn’t said it aloud. No need to further distress Optimus, after all.

Honestly, Jazz truly hoped it would never happen. Cue why he was so invested into getting Ratchet into fighting shape. He didn’t need to be great – Jazz made no illusion on the old mech’s fighting prowess – but he needed to at least be good enough to hold his own until reinforcements could sweep in and save his aft. 

Ratchet rolled his optics but didn’t protest. Good, Jazz thought grimly. Thankfully, the old medic wasn’t a pacifist like some of his fellows, else Jazz would have had an even bigger problem on his hands.

“So,” he said, clapping his hands as he moved toward a weapon rack. “Normally, I’d start with hand to hand but I was lead to believe you already passed all the right certifications with Kup.” By which Jazz meant that he had double-checked Ratchet’s files for any hint of previous combat training, which may not have been completely legal but eh, Spec Ops; it was his job.

From the way Ratchet’s optics narrowed, he knew exactly what Jazz had done and he was NOT impressed. However, he didn’t raise the Pit over it, most likely because he himself was guilty of pretty much the same thing. CMO or not, Jazz doubted every medic in the army shared their files with Ratchet of their own free will. He didn’t know much about the medical field, true, but he had heard enough to know the research field wasn’t much better than a cutthroat back alley in lower Altihex. While Ratchet wasn’t the time to, oh, take another medic’s researches and publish them under his own name, it didn’t mean the rest of the medical corps wasn’t suspicious.

Well, their loss, Jazz guessed.

The two mechs looked at each other and tacitly agreed not to raise the issue again, least Jazz tries to have Ratchet silenced by way of blackmail and least Ratchet would put Jazz through full axles realignment the next time he came to the Medbay for a checkup.

As it was, Jazz didn’t think the task ahead would be too arduous. So far, Ratchet had shown excellent sense while under the watch of Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Not only that, he had _Kup_ ’s approval and that was no small thing to obtain. Kup, just like Ironhide, was hard to impress and very exigent with his pupils. Putting him in charge of teaching most of the basic hand-to-hand combat skills was unusual, given his true level of skills, but Kup was insightful and quick to evaluate who had potential to be frontliner and who didn’t, who would be better suited for second line work and who should be sent to the Quartermaster’s office and never allowed in range of a battlefield, ever.

And he could unearth true gems when he put his mind to it. Eck, a fourth of the current Special Ops roster had come in with a recommendation from the old warrior!

So reading and confirming with the old instructor that Ratchet had indeed passed all of Kup’s aptitude tests with flying colors had come as a very good surprise. As far as Kup was concerned, Ratchet was perfectly able to defend himself while unarmed – and to do it with extreme prejudice if pressed, according to the note at the bottom of the file.

So far, so good. But given how much heat most Decepticons packed, unarmed wasn’t going to be enough.

Thus why Jazz had taken some of his time and reserved the training room for the evening. He just hoped Ratchet was a fast learner.

“You got that right,” Ratchet groused, crossing his arms. “What do you want to teach me, then?”

Jazz smiled. “Ever been in a knife fight? Catch,” he said, throwing an energon dagger at the medic, watching how he’d react.

Ratchet cursed and caught it by the handle in one smooth move that made Jazz raise an optic ridge under his visor; he had expected the medic to fumble and drop it or dodge, but Ratchet hadn’t flinched. And now, much to Jazz’s surprise, he was eyeing the dagger with a very professional optic.

“That blade is slag,” the medic plainly stated, weighting it in his hand. “It’s completely unbalanced, you won’t be able to use it as a good throwing tool. And the tip is ready to break too,” he added with narrowed optics. “Utter rubbish. I don’t know who last used it or who is tasked with the training weapons maintenance but I hope he gets reported.”

He pointed the dagger in front of him and made a few stabbing and parrying gestures before shaking his head. “Pointless. I’ll be better off with one of my scalpels. They’re more discreet to hide, too – it’s not out of place on a medic, after all.”

“… What,” Jazz said flatly. Okay, that, he hadn’t expected. Tilting his head, he appraised Ratchet with new optics. He was still old, he was still cranky as the Pit, he was still hyper competent at his job… but suddenly, it was like an aura of danger had started to surround him. “I didn’t know you were so knowledgeable on blades.” That hadn’t been in any of the files on the medic.

The medic snorted. “Please. I voluntarily opened a clinic and worked in some of the seediest neighborhoods in Cybertron, you don’t think I walked there unharmed? I might be idealistic, but I’m not suicidal,” he said bluntly. “Plenty of mechs there who don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer when you tell them you’re not interested or who thought that old, rich-looking medic walking down the street was an easy target. They learned better,” he rumbled in self-satisfaction. “The trickiest part was to incapacitate them without killing them but eh, that’s what medical knowledge is used for. Usually I aim for the energon and the hydraulic fluid lines in the wrists. They’re easy enough to reach if you swipe the blade at the right angle and the loss of fluids make their hands seize, so they can’t keep hold of whatever weapon they are holding,” he explained as Jazz blinked. “It also makes it harder for them to punch. A good alternative is to swoop low and aim for the ankles and apply the same technique. I don’t like to directly go for stabbing, you never know if the idiot hasn’t modified his internals to pack illicit merchandises and you risk touching something sensitive and accidentally killing them but when I have to, I aim for the hips. They have a hard time running after you when they have to drag an unresponsive limb.”

… That sounded so much like one of his teachers’ lecture that Jazz felt like he was having a flashback. Sure, his teachers actually taught him to head for the _fatal_ bits before, but when you needed to take someone prisoner or didn’t actively need a guard dead, well… You had to know your way around a frame. And, wow, did Ratchet sound like that when he taught medical classes? Because if he did, Jazz wanted to sign up!

“As for why I never mentioned it,” Ratchet added with a smirk, “well, you never asked.”

Jazz smirked back, shoulders shaking with repressed laughter. He had walked straight into that one, hadn’t he? Sounded like their CMO wasn’t easy picking after all. It reassured him – and made his engine want to revv. Such an interesting mech. What other secrets did he hide? Oh, it was going to be so fun and try to pry them all away from him!

Ah, but business first.

“Okay, fair enough. Care to show me what you can do?” he asked as he took the other dagger in hand and took a fighting stance. Ratchet did the same, grip shifting.

It was going a very interesting experience, Jazz could already tell.

Hmm, he wondered how open Ratchet would be to share a cube of energon once they had finished. And if perhaps he was alone tonight and open to a more… _private_ … chat. Maybe, just maybe Ratchet’s extensive knowledge of a mech’s frame was, ah, ‘appliable’ outside of the Medbay. If so… Well.

A mech could dream, after all.

**End**


End file.
